Now You See Me
by jenl821
Summary: After her broken engagement, and the realization that Sherlock is and will never be interested in her, pathologist Molly Hooper decides to jump back into the dating pool to fill the loneliness in her heart, but Molly finds more than she bargained for when she starts receiving strange messages. Molly has no choice but to turn to Sherlock for help. Spoilers for Season 3.
1. Chapter 1

_Now You See Me_

_Chapter 1_

The crisp air whipped her face with its cold tendrils, sending a slight shiver down her rigid body. She wrapped her small coat around her petite form, using her arms to stimulate some heat into her freezing body. She stared straight ahead, her vision never leaving the object in front of her. She leaned forward slightly, her hand coming to rest on the slick marble stone that marked the burial spot of the smartest man she ever knew. She allowed her finger to trace the large S that began the name, and lingered on the small S that ended it. Sherlock Holmes, the man of many trades, and holder of Molly Hooper's heart.

She didn't completely understand why she was here. She knew, actually knew, rather than theorized, that Sherlock was indeed, perfectly alive and well. She stopped her train of thought, she couldn't actually say he was well. She hadn't seen him for almost two years. She helped him fake his death, helped him get ready, as he stayed at her flat for the better part of two days, before he set out on a quest to dismantle Moriarty's network without so much as a goodbye.

The constant hole within her heart from his absence seemed to bother her everyday, and she unconsciously rubbed the middle of her abdomen, hoping to relieve some of the pain. But relief was futile, the ache continued, pestering her in the middle of the night with worry and dread as a sudden vision of Sherlock in peril had descended into her dreams, erupting into a madness of scrambled sheets and sweaty hands before she flung herself up, her heart pounding and aching, all the same. It was a vicious cycle, one she repeated more often than was healthy, her mind wondering if she was bordering on obsessive on her need to be close to Sherlock.

She changed out the flowers that adorned the grave, tossing the dying sunflowers into the wind. She brought a different type of flower every time she had visited. She did not know Sherlock's favorite flower-maybe he didn't even have one-and her need to impress Sherlock made her question her decision every time she walked into the florist (so much, they knew her by name), so her only way to compensate was to just go with a different flower each and every time.

"Sherlock," Molly began, taking a deep breath in as if she getting ready to address the nation. "I wonder where you are, what you're doing? I hope you're eating properly and taking care of yourself. Everyone here misses you, especially John. He's beside himself with grief, and your death has taken it's toll on him." Molly paused for a second as she gathered her thoughts.

"You should see him. He's grown a mustache, it's quite disturbing." Molly fell into a fit of giggles as she pictured John and his new-found love of facial hair. "I wonder if Mary hates it too," Molly said aloud, and her face suddenly became very serious. "Oh, that's right, you haven't met Mary. You need to come back, Sherlock. You're missing so much...so much important stuff. John needs you, Greg needs you, Mrs. Hudson needs you, London needs you...," Molly paused for a moment, wiping a lone tear from her cheek, "I need you." Molly gave a soft nod, before turning on her heels and making her way back to her car, completely oblivious to the watchful eye of said consulting detective and his sad smile as he watched her leave.


	2. Chapter 2

_Now You See Me_

_Chapter 2_

Molly shifted the clear goggles on her face as she looked at the experiment going on before her.

She wrapped her smock tighter around her body, she didn't want any blood on her clothes, least of all today.

Sherlock stood beside her, hacking into a forearm she provided for him. He was on a case and needed to know the exact damage a hammer could do to the bone.

When Sherlock showed back up a few days after her visit to the grave, Molly couldn't stop smiling. She was so grateful to have him back, and in one piece, that she almost jumped into his arms as he surprised her at Bart's one day after her shift, looking all handsome and mysterious as she eyed him in her locker mirror.

His exchange with John didn't go as he had planned she heard from Mary. It was an interesting tale, and one she wished she could have been a fly on the wall for.

Events seemed to be a blur from there. She had gotten engaged (long story), John and Mary got married, Sherlock was asked to give a best man's speech, she ended her engagement, and Sherlock ended the reign of another horrible criminal.

Everything had been quiet since then, everyone falling into a typical routine. Sherlock and John still solved cases together. Sherlock still commandeered the lab whenever he felt like it, and Molly's love for him only continued to grow. But with the love, came the ache once more. Her constant interaction with him, was lovely, and she looked forward to it, but every time he left or said something unkind, it chipped away at her already fragile heart. The pain inside her was growing, so she did what she did best, she tucked it away, pushing the pain down as far as it would go, and plastered on a fake smile she had perfected so many years ago, even the genius Sherlock Holmes couldn't tell the difference.

Her days were lonely, her life forgettable, and she found herself living for the days when Sherlock would sweep into the lab, his curly locks bouncing with exuberance, as he pestered her for body parts or lab results, effectively taking over his stool and microscope without a second thought. She smiled, offered coffee, and tried to convince herself that she was happy. That seeing Sherlock, helping him out and being needed, was enough. That she could live like this for the rest of her life. She tried to move on, she was engaged for God's sake, but that wasn't enough. Who was she fooling? He was a Sherlock substitute, and that was more than apparent when he was back from the dead, and Molly found herself wanting less of Tom and more of Sherlock.

The loneliness was hard to ignore, and she knew it was time to try and move on once more. She needed to get back out there, try going on a few dates or socializing with people that weren't dead or demanding obscene things from her while calling her John.

Her friend had suggested online dating. Molly was completely against it at first. She didn't trust people from those sites, but the pestering didn't lay off, and Molly found herself giving in. It took a few months, but she finally began to chat with this nice man who lived in the city. He was in his mid-thirties, nice-looking, and very friendly. After emailing him for a few weeks, Molly finally agreed to meet him for dinner at a local Italian restaurant, which brings her back to said day.

"Um, Sherlock," Molly began, standing away from the arm. "I don't mean to be a bother, but, when do you think you're going to be done?"

Sherlock didn't look up, too focused on the arm. "Why?" Sherlock asked, giving the arm a nice whack, sending red blood onto Molly's goggles. She used a towel to wipe it away, before stepping aside. She didn't have time to go back to her apartment to change before her date. She needed to stay blood-free, so as to not scare the man away immediately if she had blood stains on her shirt.

"I just...need to be going soon," Molly said. She peered at the clock on the wall. It was half past five, and she was to meet Andrew in an hour.

"I told you to stop watching that crap telly," Sherlock began. Molly opened her mouth to object, but he continued on. "It's better to be here, with me, than sitting on your couch."

Molly would have smiled at the comment at one time, him saying he wanted her to be there, but she knew that wasn't the case. "You mean "for" you."

"Yes, well, what's the difference?" Sherlock said, his hands moving toward the microscope as he analyzed his findings.

"Listen, Sherlock, I don't mind...," Molly started to say, when Sherlock decided to interrupt.

"Hand me that scalpel, John," Sherlock said and Molly's jaw clenched shut. The sudden pain within her chest throbbed, and she began to rub it. It had been a while since he last called her John instead of her name. She had thought they moved past that. She wanted to believe that she was more important to just be a person to Sherlock Holmes. She knew he would never want her romantically, but she at least thought they could be friends. He trusted her, right? Didn't he say she counted? It's times like these he made her feel less than human, completely worthless, and she batted down the tears.

"My name isn't John, it's Molly," Molly said through clenched teeth. Her one hand gripped her chest, while the other turned in on itself, digging nail impressions into her hand. Sometimes Sherlock Holmes was just too much, and she was so close to exploding, she knew she had to get out of there, and fast. Molly walked away, ripping off her lab coat and throwing it into her office, before grabbing her purse. She threw on her coat, and kept her eyes away from Sherlock. She knew if she turned around and looked at him she would lose her composure.

"Oh, if you're going out, I'll take a black coffee, two sugars," Sherlock called after her and Molly felt her entire being begin to break in half. After everything she's done for him, after everything, this is still how he's going to act. She breathed in and out slowly, counting to ten in her head before she whipped around to face the curly-haired bastard.

"You're never going to change, are you, Sherlock Holmes?" Molly asked, her voice so quiet, she wasn't sure if she had spoke aloud, until Sherlock looked up quickly, his eyes finding hers and widening slightly at the sight before him. "I've done so much for you, and you act like I'm nothing...no one. That's how it's been for me my whole life, I'm starting to believe it's true." Sherlock looked like he wanted to say something, but she quieted him with a look. "I'm trying to be there for you, Sherlock, and I don't ask much from you, but a little decency would go a long way."

She turned then, ready to head out the door when Sherlock's voice stopped her. "Enjoy your date," he simply said, and Molly turned to face him.

"You knew?" Molly questioned, then immediately backtracked. Of course he would know.

He stood up, and began to slowly make his way over toward her.

"You're dressed in decent clothes, not your usual sweatshirts and khakis. You've taken the time to fix your hair, straightening in the back, and slightly pinned up, which you only wear that way when your going to be in a social setting. You've put on a hint of makeup, which you never do just for work, and you've changed your bag to something smaller, and lighter, nothing like your messenger bag so as to not ruin your clothes," Sherlock assessed, as he eyed Molly, all the while coming up to her.

Molly stood in stunned silence. She was used to this, Sherlock always did this, but not with her. She figured she wasn't important enough for Sherlock to notice, let alone deduce, but today she was wrong. He noticed her and she felt a blush creep up onto her cheeks.

"I do have a date," Molly said, clasping her hands in her front of her as she nodded her head. "I'm meeting him in an hour."

Sherlock smiled slightly. "I am sorry, Molly Hopper, for making you feel worthless. I often forget my place, and this sentiment everyone is so attached too. You have done so much for me, and I owe you so much more than my petty remarks."

He kissed her check lightly, and Molly began rubbing the ache in her chest once more. "Thank you, Sherlock," Molly said, breathless.

He grabbed her on either side of her arm, giving them a slight squeeze. "If he's nothing like Tom, I'm sure you'll have a great time," Sherlock said and Molly laughed at the mention of her ex-fiance.

"He's not," Molly said. Sherlock let go of her arms, and she immediately missed their warmth.

He turned away and began heading back to his experiment. "If it's alright with you, I'm going to stay here and continue to work on this experiment. I'll lock up when I'm done," Sherlock said and Molly felt her face fall. Was he being nice just so she would let him stay? Probably, Molly thought, but she didn't feel like starting anything again, so she didn't regard him with a response. With a soft click of the lock, she was out the door, and heading toward someone who had some sense on how to interact with other human beings...or at least she hoped.


	3. Chapter 3

_Now You See Me_

_Chapter 3_

Molly drummed the table with her fingers, her eyes glancing at her watch every few minutes to gather the time. She downed her third glass of red wine, wiping her mouth hastily, for fear that he might show up at that exact moment. Checking her watch once again, it read 7:43pm. She had been sitting at the table for over an hour and she effectively knew she had been stood up.

"Can I get you another glass, ma'am?" the young waitress asked nicely. She had a kind smile, but Molly could see through her crystal blue eyes just what she was thinking. She probably felt sorry for her, her eyes a clear reflection of Molly's complete loser status.

Molly shook her head quickly, knowing that she needed to stop before she was unable to get herself home.

"Will you be ordering soon or..." the waitress began to say, and Molly cut her off, too embarrassed to hear her ask again about Molly's "supposed" dinner date.

"Not yet, just a few more minutes please. I'm sure he'll be here soon." The waitress nodded her head, her eyes again compassionate, but all too knowing. Molly wanted to call or text Andrew, but when she arrived at the restaurant, she realized she had left it in her other bag at work, along with her keys. She grimaced at the small handbag laying on the table. She had bought it just for this occasion, and it was too small to hold much more than some cash and her lipstick. "Good going, Molly." She folded her arms, trying to not feel like everyone in the room was staring at her, pitying her, knowing that she was being stood up.

Fifteen minutes passed before the waitress chanced another trip to Molly's table. "I'm sorry ma'am, but my manager will no longer let you hold the table. You can order, or I'll have to ask you to leave."

Molly didn't look up, or rather, she couldn't. She swallowed the tears that threatened to fall, and grabbed her bag. "Just the check, please. I'm sorry for taking up the table. Won't happen again," Molly uttered. The waitress took off, and Molly was sure she was probably laughing at her in the back room along with her fellow waiters. Her cheeks were red, her feet terribly uncomfortable, and her heart slightly more broken than it was when she arrived that evening.

The waitress laid the check on the table, but didn't depart right away. She interlocked her hands, giving Molly a warm smile. "Just for the record, he was probably a real dick anyway," she said. Molly smirked back.

"Thank you," Molly said before signing the bill (leaving a much larger tip than she originally intended), grabbing her small, unusable bag, and coat, and heading out the door.

Shrugging on her jacket, she flagged down a taxi, intending to go home, when she realized she had to go back to St. Bart's to get her bag. All Molly wanted to do was curl up on her couch at home and cry into a nice cup of tea. The last thing she wanted was to go back to Bart's where there was a chance she could run into a colleague, or even worse: the genius detective.

Molly rolled her eyes, telling the driver to head to St. Bart's. She hoped that Sherlock had already gone home for the night. She would slip in, grab her bag, and slip out, avoiding everyone.

The taxi rolled up in front of the hospital. Molly told him to wait, she would only be a moment, and took off for the door. It was starting to rain, and Molly pulled her coat on a little tighter.

She made it to the morgue without anyone spotting her. She saw the doors to the lab and took a deep breath. She looked in the small window, glancing around for any sign of Sherlock. She didn't see any movement, so she slipped inside. Looking around, she didn't see anyone. She let out a breath and made her way to her office. She grabbed her bag, and was turning around to lock her office door when she felt someone watching her.

She spun around and her heart stopped. There stood Sherlock, a coffee at his lips, as his eyes scanned over her. He didn't stare for long, and moved over toward his regular seat. "Back so soon?" he said, and Molly prepared herself for any harsh remarks.

"Didn't feel to well, so I called it a night." Molly made a beeline for the door, hoping to escape without any more words having to be exchanged, but Molly wasn't so lucky.

"Don't try to lie, Molly, you're not any good at it," Sherlock muttered, and Molly shook her head.

"It's nothing, really. I'm just tired, so I'll be going then." Molly grabbed the handle, but Sherlock's voice stopped her once more.

"That much of a bore, huh?"

_Why the hell is he so chatty today, when he usually ignores me? _"Actually, I was stood up," Molly admitted, looking to the floor instantly. She couldn't meet Sherlock's eyes. She didn't want to see pity in them, or worse, nothing at all.

"I told you to steer away from relationships, Molly. They're really not your area," Sherlock commented and Molly felt her heart break a little more. Pity was one thing, anger another, but complete indifference was something Molly wasn't ready for.

She just had one of the worst nights of her life; a night that help solidify the fact that she would probably end up alone for the rest of her life. She just wanted to be home, with Toby, to cry as much as she wanted. She wanted to yell at Sherlock. To ask why he always hurt her, but she couldn't. The fire inside of her was slowly disappearing. She had no strength left to even stick up for herself, and at the moment she didn't care. She looked up, aware of the tears that dripped down her face, and nodded her head. Her eyes found Sherlock's, and she was surprised to see them filled with some sort of emotion. "I know." Molly didn't waste any more time, before she slipped out the door and made her way back outside as fast as she could muster.

When Molly exited the hospital, she wasn't shocked to see that the taxi had left. The rain poured from above, and Molly shivered from the cold. She thought about ringing another taxi, but decided against it. She felt like walking, in the rain, as a mirror to her mood. "When it rains, it pours," Molly said aloud, turning down the street and making her way home.

* * *

><p>The kettle whistled from the kitchen, and Molly hurried to shut it off. Pouring her a steaming cup of tea, Molly made her way back to the living room. The lights were off, her hair was up, and she curled herself on the couch, with Toby right beside her.<p>

When she had gotten home, she was completely soaked. She changed quickly and opted for a hot shower, where she cried her heart out. Her phone was completely dead, and she let it charge.

_Maybe he was busy and sent me a message. Maybe he tried to call me, but since I didn't answer decided to assume he was being stood up._ All sorts of excuses were running through Molly's head to make herself feel better. She didn't know the whole story, so she needed to wait until her phone was charged to understand exactly what happened.

And now, she waited, with her tea. The tears had stopped, but the heartache lingered. She rubbed Toby around the face, happy that at least he was there to comfort her. She would love to have a friend, but she was scarce in that department. She regretted spending so much time on her studies, and no time on her social life. She was so concerned about getting the highest marks, so dedicated to graduating early, that Molly neglected making those special connections most people had.

Sure, she had Mary, John, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson. And even Sherlock when he was in the right mood, but she wasn't close enough with them to let them see this side of her. This vulnerable, heart-wide-open, part of herself that she kept locked away. It had been locked for so long, she had effectively lost the key, and maybe that was for the best.

Her phone began to beep, rendering the thoughts loose from her mind, and she reached over to it.

She checked her voicemails, and nothing. She sighed when she realized she was probably being stupid hoping for the best, but then her text messages blinked and Molly stared at the 1 on the screen. She opened it quickly, but her face fell when she didn't recognize the number. The message was just a series of numbers, and Molly rolled her eyes. _Of course it would be spam._

Molly was about to throw her phone across the room, when there was a knock at her door. Molly steeled, her heart thundering in her chest. _Who could be at her door now?_

She pried herself away from Toby, the cat not happy being woken from his sleep, and walked to the door.

She stood up on her toes, looking through the peep hole and gasped. Sherlock stood in front of her door. Hands behind his back, he was looking around the hallway, and Molly knew he was already aware of her looking at him.

Molly turned her back toward the door. _Why was he here? What was going on? Maybe he got locked out of the lab again?_

Molly brushed back her hair, and closed her robe, before undoing the locks and opening the door.

"Evening, Molly," Sherlock said and Molly just stared.

"What are you doing here, Sherlock?"

Sherlock just peered around her, looking into her apartment, and she internally winced at the deductions that were already flooding his mind. He didn't mention anything, just said, "It's usually customary for you to invite me in."

"Oh yes, of course," Molly said, not thinking. She stepped aside, and he strode by. Molly could smell him and she tried to slow down her heart. When he turned, his face illuminated by the moon flooding into the room, she realized just how truly handsome he was. His angled face and full-lips, caused her pulse to race and she had to look away for fear that he would see her admiration. She brushed some hair behind her ears, and grabbed her empty tea cup. She headed toward the kitchen, and started another kettle. "What did you need? If you want into the lab again, can it wait until morning? I've had a rough night."

"Actually, that's why I'm here," Sherlock began, and Molly looked up from the stove to notice he had taken a seat on the couch. Toby jumped up and curled in his lap. When he had faked his death, Toby had taken a liking to Sherlock, even though he was only there for a brief time. Sherlock looked at Toby, before turning and facing her. "I wanted to apologize."

The cups Molly was holding almost shattered on the floor, as she stumbled to the sink. Her mind was reeling. _Sherlock had come here to apologize?_ "Wait...what?"

"I was harsh tonight in my verbalization with you. I did not mean to make your night even worse," Sherlock said.

Molly brought over the cups of tea, handing it to Sherlock, and hoping her hand wasn't shaking too much. He took it, and began to sip the hot liquid.

"I...," Molly began, not sure what to say. "You didn't make it any worse."

"I don't know who this guy was, but he was foolish to stand you up," Sherlock said and Molly smiled at his attempt to console her.

"I'm not...," Molly began, when her phone beeped again. Molly picked it up and noticed another text message. It was from the same number as before. This time it was actual words. It just read: _Yelled Idiom. _

_What was that supposed to mean? _Molly ignored it and turned back to Sherlock.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, and Molly just shook her head.

"Nothing, just some dumb spam messages."

"Probably got them from that dating site you signed up for," Sherlock said and Molly rolled her eyes.

They sat in silence for a while, until Sherlock finished his tea. He sat the cup down and stood up. "I guess it's time to take my leave." Sherlock threw on his coat, and Molly stood up beside him. He turned to look at her. "Thank you for the tea."

Molly nodded, walking toward the door and opening it. Sherlock swished through. He stopped outside her door, before looking over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow, Dr. Hopper." He was gone with a wave and Molly couldn't wipe the smile off her face.

She had needed a friend tonight, and while Sherlock was no where close to how a friend usually behaved, he was trying, and that was enough. The sharp pain in her chest was back, and Molly rubbed it for relief.

Earlier she had considered calling out the next day. She hardly ever took personal days, and she didn't think anyone would miss her or even notice she was gone, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe Sherlock would notice, and it was worth going in to find out.


	4. Chapter 4

_Now You See Me_

_Chapter 4_

Molly was finishing up her paperwork, ready to head out for the day when Mike Stamford strolled in. She was slightly surprised to see him, since he usually didn't actually make it into the morgue much these days, but she stood up from her desk and met him in the doorway.

"Mike, it's nice to see you." Molly gave a slight wave, and Mike smiled down at her through his thick glasses.

"Molly, I'm glad I caught you," Mike said, both of them turning to the clock on the wall to see it was half past six. Molly was off at five that day.

"Just finishing up some paperwork, then I was going to take off." Molly motioned the stacks of papers on her desk and Mike grimaced.

"You need to learn to delegate more to the interns, get rid of all this tedious stuff," Mike suggested and Molly nodded.

"I would, but I actually enjoy this "tedious stuff"." She wasn't lying. She found it calming to write out reports and make notes on her observations for the day.

Mike didn't say anything and Molly waited to understand Mike's visit. When he didn't look like he was ever going to say anything, Molly gave him a nudge. "Um, did you need anything?"

"Ah, yes," Mike said, shaking his head as if ridding his thoughts and handed Molly a notebook. She flipped through it quickly to see it was filled with experiments and other notes. "Sherlock dropped this off a couple days ago and I forgot to give it to you. He wants you to go over his findings when you get a chance."

Molly nodded, still combing through all the pages. It was a rather extensive notebook. She was always fascinated by Sherlock's attention to detail. The experiments were thorough and comprehensive, and she was actually surprised he would trust her with something like this. It wasn't like her opinion mattered anyway.

Molly didn't feel like voicing any of these thoughts to Mike. She placed it in her bag and turned back to Mike. "Thank you, Mike. I will go over it when I get home."

"Thanks Molly, you know how Sherlock can be." Mike gave a wave and was off.

Molly smiled to herself. "I certainly do, Mike, I certainly do." Molly sat back down at her desk and was about to get back to her paperwork, but her eye caught sight of the notebook and she couldn't help but give it another look.

She flipped through the pages, enthralled by everything she read. Sherlock's mind was such a wonder, and here she was able to get a slight glimpse into it and she was entranced. A book written by Sherlock filled with science and experiments about the human body, and Molly was in heaven.

She read and read, turning each page with eager anticipation. She was so consumed in her reading, that she almost jumped out of her chair when her phone began buzzing. She looked around and realized it was dark outside. She glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost ten and she gasped. She lost all sense of time while engrossed in Sherlock's work. She shook her head at her foolishness.

She grabbed her phone, wondering who would have contacted her anyway. It was a text message from an unknown number. She opened it up and her heart skipped a beat. It just read "Working late?".

Molly didn't know who this could be. It had been about two weeks since the messages had started. The night she had been stood up. At first they made no sense, and she disregarded them, but lately they have been a bit alarming. She got one a few days ago that read "How's your cat?". Yesterday she received one that read: "Nothing much on television tonight, huh?"

Molly had ignored the messages, but now she was sure it was someone she knew playing a joke on her. She typed out a message that read: "Who is this?"

Molly waited for a response, but there wasn't one. "You're being stupid, Molly," Molly said aloud. She gathered her things and made her way out of the morgue. She knew catching a cab wasn't going to happen at this time of night, so Molly opted for walking home.

She was about halfway home, when her phone buzzed again. Reaching up, she had a new message from the unknown number. She opened it and saw it had a picture attached. She opened the picture and when she looked upon the image, she dropped everything in her arms and stood still.

The image was of the man who had stood her up, Andrew. He was just as she remembered him looking from the pictures he had sent her. The only difference was that this Andrew wasn't smiling, or laughing with friends, or hugging his niece. This Andrew was lying on the ground, a pool of blood around his body and that wasn't even the most chilling factor. Underneath, scrawled in what looked like red paint was the phrase: "Did you miss me?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry for the short chapter. Next chapter will be twice as long to make up for it. I just really wanted to end with this cliffhanger._


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